


The Evening Courier

by ARMEN15



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Beautiful Golden Fools | Cersei/Jaime Lannister-centric, Cop Brienne, Developing Relationship, F/M, Faceless Arya Stark, First Time, Italian Mafia, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture, Virgin!Sansa, priest!jaime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:22:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21873631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ARMEN15/pseuds/ARMEN15
Summary: I want to thank my marvellous beta (Anonymous) for the help!An AU AU set in modern times and in modern Europe, a WIP that requires a long time to be completed.Following mainly book!canon with a different development in some characters.The Evening Courier is the most famous and known Italian newspaper, printed in the North of the country.
Relationships: Arya Stark & Sansa Stark, Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Jaime Lannister & Tywin Lannister, Jaime Lannister/Sansa Stark, Jaqen H'ghar/Arya Stark, Jon Snow & Arya Stark, Petyr Baelish & Sansa Stark, Ramsay Bolton & Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane & Arya Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 46
Kudos: 435





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a modern AU so I'm trying to be close as possibile to the reality of modern life.  
> English is not my mother tongue so please if you notice mistakes ...help me to improve my command over it.  
> And a comment is always welcomed.

The prelude

The Evening Courier’s front page, with a big bold black title, confirmed in the early morning what the breaking news on television had announced at midnight.  
Three members of a wealthy and well respected family of the North had been killed in the South in perfect criminal style, according to police reports.  
Father, mother and their eldest son, a young man soon to be married, died from gunshot wounds caused by automatic rifles.  
The eldest daughter was kidnapped, the younger son seriously wounded on his back, facing a long and delicate surgery to save his life, but not his legs.  
It wasn’t an accident or a wrong target, the four killers entered into the restaurant overlooking the sea where the family was having a quiet dinner with their gusts – a Southern family business related - and went for their preys, locking the other customers and the restaurant staff in the cellar before starting the carnage.  
The Police recognized the modus operandi of the killers, who sprung up from nowhere on motorbikes, used silenced guns and left without a trace in the night; the pizza delivery boy returned with the empty bag and discovered the massacre.  
Nobody saw anything or offered further details.  
It was the custom there, don’t speak when the Dons strike.

The young woman with auburn hair felt the needle in her arm and she faded into unconsciousness; she could remember only a few images of the events of the evening. Single frames, never continuous. Like watching a photo exhibition rather than a movie.  
The waiter pouring them a bottle of cold sparkling white wine.  
Mother taking father’s hand.  
Bran answering texts.  
Robb devouring his “pasta alla Norma”.  
A group of four men entering and the strange expressions of the maitre’s face.  
A rifle pointed at her.  
People falling.  
Red.  
A hole in her father’s chest.  
Bran’s back covered with blood.  
A man grabbing her arm, pulling her away.  
The streetlamps going off.  
A dark van with the back door open. Then the darkness fell.

The key turned into the lock and a tall, slim figure entered the house out of the rain.  
Drops fell from his hands, his jaw and his hair, of an unusual length for a man.  
He got rid of the soaked coat, hanging it on the hook and went to the fireplace.  
The house was humid, spring rain and ocean mist permeated the walls, for three long months no one had inhabited the cottage, every week the neighbours - the owners of the restaurant above the cove - controlled everything was ok. The man had told them it was a vacation cottage and he was travelling often for work, so he had no routine in visiting the place and he liked to have it always ready in case he decided to take a break.  
The man took three bags out of the car and put one into the kitchen, to store more food into the fridge and on the shelves.  
Tired, he needed to eat something hot and he decided to reheat a frosted portion of curry and rice t in the microwave.  
He ate it in front of the fire, in complete silence if only for the crackling logs; for a long time his life had been silence, the choices had been made long time before.  
The television was on, muted, the news was always the same. War, homicide, scandal, pollution, natural disaster and the climate change; it was enough to read the headlines running below like a continuous river of sadness.  
The only news that caught his attentions were the photos of the family that had been killed ion the South of the bordering country. The daughter had stunning auburn hair.

The phone rang in the middle of the night; Sandor Hound, butler of Winterfell, answered it and immediately run up the stairs, shouting.  
“Signorina Arya! Signorina!”  
Hound knocked at Arya Stark’s bedroom door in a frenzied manner, a series of hard fists against the wood that shocked her; at first Arya thought it was a bad dream, a really vivid one, but the sound continued so she forced herself to leave her soft bed and opened the door, clad in a grey pyjamas. Her german shepherd Nymeria at her side, eyes wide alert; a danger was coming, the dog was sure.  
The butler handled her the phone.  
The chief inspector’s voice – a woman’s voice, strong, confident, calm, but with an unusual accent – asked Arya her identity and if he relatives were travelling South.  
“My mom, dad and siblings are away. Dad’s on business trip South.”  
“There had been a criminal raid, your relatives were the target. There’s a plane at the air force base waiting to bring you here. I’ll be at the landing strip to meet you with my men. You’re under police protection from now on, a police car should already be at your door.”

The elder friars ate their lunch in silence while the younger one read from the bible, a tradition with roots in the past, for every shared meals.  
The hermitage once was home to a large fraternity, now there were only three friars, two well over seventy, one in his late thirties, tall and blond and by every standard beautiful as an angel.  
The respective past of the friars remained private, those who had left the mundane world for so many years didn’t care anymore but for the young one memories were an enemy to fight and conquer like a lion with his prey.  
After having his own dinner and cleaning the table, he went to the henhouse to check the hens and took the hose pipe to water the orange and lemon trees in vases.  
When he pulled the hose to the terrace of the first floor, beside the walls of the chapel, he noticed the postman's car approaching, as it did every week. Few correspondence between the hermitage and the rest of the world.  
He later opened the mailbox and retrieved four letters, one was not a standard envelope, but an expensive paper sealed with a small red wax seal, like in ancient times. A sign of wealth, a sign of power. He already knew who the sender was and what it contained.  
The photo of two children and a birthday card, the wishes written in her elaborate callighrapy.  
“To my dear twin, happy birthday, Cersei.”

Signorina is the italian word for Miss


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa Stark woke in a feebly lit room, the window panels were open enough to let her see the iron bars securing the place.  
She was on her side in a narrow bed, her wrists were tied up in her lap, her feet kept together with a rope at her ankles; her mouth was dry, she was sure she had been drugged. During her training in the red cross ambulance service she was top of the class and one of the teachers declared it was a pity she didn’t decide to become a doctor.  
A blanket was covering her, she touched the fabric of her dress to be sure she was still wearing it.  
Where was she and more important, why?  
The room was bare, her sight adjusted to the low light, she saw a table against the wall with a plastic glass and a bottle of sparkling water.  
She wanted nothing more in that moment than to drink it, but she felt too dizzy to try to stand up and grab it, her mind grew hazy as she lost focus and she slipped back into a broken sleep.  
The sound of a key into the lock scared her and she opened her eyes, two figures on the threshold, the one holding a torch pointed at her, the other moving at her right, so she turned her face to see him.  
“Good afternoon, Signorina Stark.” A tall, thin, bearded man with refined features, wearing a dark suit, was speaking.  
“Who are you? Where is my family?”  
“No, no, Signorina, it is impolite to be so forthright with a new acquaintance.”  
“Do you know who I am?”  
She closed her eyes to avoid the light that was hurting her head.  
“It’s obvious, I know a lot of things. The right information is a vital part of my work. I consider myself a man able to evaluate people.”  
“What do you want?”  
“Again with the angry, it is better you calm down, before I need to ask our friend here to give you another shot. You want an answer, don’t you?”  
She nodded, the arrogance of the man was disturbing her and she decided to let him speak.  
“Unfortunately, your family cannot join you at the moment so I’ll have the pleasure of your company only. My name is not important, you can call me Avvocato, if you need to address me. We’ll speak again tomorrow.”  
He turned to leave.  
“Wait, please.”  
He stopped, she lifted her bounded wrists.  
“I can’t get the water bottle.”  
“Oh, how forgetful of me.”  
The Avvocato made a simple gesture with his hand and the other man moved from behind the torch and untied her ankles a little so that Sansa could stand and careful move a few steps.  
she was too fast in her first attempt and her legs were unable to support her, so she fell face down on the floor.  
“Never hurry things, we’ll talk soon.”  
The Avvocato declared with a false smile before leaving, the door closing behind him with a loud thud.

\---

Arya’s mind went blank on the airplane, remembering only bits of her conversation with chief Inspector Tarth.  
Arya had tried to ask where her family was, sensing the inspector was ready to cut off their call.  
“I’ll explain everything when we’ll meet, Signorina Stark.”  
Arya had looked at the silent phone like it was a strange object, then a faint blue light had appeared from one of the window; the butler ran to see and open it, letting the chill night wind into the house.  
“It’s the police, Signorina Arya.” He turned toward Arya, who shivered, not from the cold.  
Then she remembered Sandor Hound sat beside her in the back seat of the police car, holding a trolley with just a bathroom travel set and a change of clothes and shoes, holding it like his dear life depended from keeping it safe.  
The airport lights were trying to break the night, it was cold and there was a thin ice under her feet as she reached the narrow stair of the Air force plane.  
Two armed soldiers with red berets, tall and muscular, followed her, rifle in hand, face hidden under a woollen mask.  
Special corps, she was sure. Trained to kill.  
The hostess gave her a bitter black coffee, Arya drank it hot, without sugar, and it burned, but she felt nothing.  
Her aunt Lyanna called three times before Arya answered, she promised to join her niece south with the first plane leaving in the morning. Few spoken words, the two women were so similar they were often mistaken for mother and daughter. 

The inspector in charge of the case was the tallest woman Arya ever saw; Brienne Tarth was probably around thirty, short blond hair and sad blue eyes. Arya remembered the surname from the list of basketball or volleyball players from when she watched a lot ofd sports on tvs; she had left the game a few years before but was still in excellent shape, her muscles visible under the blue shirt she wore.  
“Where is my sister?”  
Arya asked after inspector Tarth explained the dynamic of the shooting to her, avoiding the gory details; when Arya slammed a fist on the desk and between clenched teeth demanded to know everything, the inspector had to admit the younger Stark girl was a great match.  
Ned Stark was a wealthy man, he created an strong family enterprise, owned various estates and was devoted to his family and his country.  
The way the killers acted was in full South style, the prosecutor told Arya in presence of Inspector Tart, it had been a power show against the Starks and the Tullies.  
And Arya was now head of House Stark, with Sansa missing, Bran in intensive care and cousin Jon, Lyanna’s only son, in the army far away for a peace mission. 

Arya accepted a public ceremony of mourning, the archbishop dressed in purple cloak, flowers covering the three coffins in the middle of the North’s main cathedral, candles and incense burning during all the time, the choir singing nestled up above, around the ancient organ.  
The North was in dark, black ribbons on the flags, sombre clothes of people inside the church, schools were closed for the day, children saw the hearses pass along the streets and throw flowers at them, white as the snow still lingering over the impending mountains, the spring sun couldn’t melt all the snow.  
Arya was silent. She could not cry, not in front of the crowd.  
The surviving Starks and all the Tullies sat on the first benches with Sandor and the managers of Stark enterprise. Arya wanted only her cousin Jon – eyes dark for the pain and the jet lag - to stand by her side.  
The town major, the police chief, the Home Secretary - representing the government - went to her after the coffins left the cathedral and she simply shook the proffered hands and heard without listening their hollow words.  
She wanted revenge, she was sure the police wouldn’t find the assassins and the instigators, so she had only a route to follow. 

Arya and her uncle Edmure Tully held a private meeting with Syrio Forel, her father’s most trusted assistant, a man Ned Stark met many winters before, when an avalanche threatened a mountain village and they both were volunteers in the emergency rescue team, spending a few nights patrolling the area with the trained dogs.  
The huge wall of snow had mercy of the houses and ended up destroying only a few barns in the most secluded part of the valley.  
“I need to know the names. I’m going to avenge my family and find Sansa. Isn’t clear?” Arya repeated another time; she was determined not to be denied.  
“I’m sure police is investigating and the culprits would be soon found.”  
Arya shook her head, rage was heating her face and Syrio thought she was right, sadly; her uncle’s naivety was a nuisance for the young woman.  
“Edmure, you have lived abroad for a very long time, the situation here is difficult, mafia has expanded. It corrupts policemen, judges, politicians, I don’t trust the police have the power to uncover the truth.” Syrio explained to the other man.  
“I want my sister back, not a lifeless body.” Arya’s impatience to act was menacing.  
Syrio, in his youth a talented swordsman, Olympic silver medallist with the national team, controlled his files before speaking.  
“Arya, I think I have a proposal to make.”  
He turned the screen of his laptop and Arya saw an image, half white, half black, and the words private security service in the middle

Signorina is the italian word for Miss  
Avvocato is the italian word for lawyer/barrister


	3. Chapter 3

Cersei’s Baratheon most recent lover was a young relative by marriage, whose widowed mother remarried with one of Don Tywin Lannister’s cousin. Dark hair and eyes, Lancel was handsome and young like all the previous lovers, complete opposites to her fat old husband.  
Robert Baratheon - known for drinking and whoring, abusing his life in every possible way - had been laid to rest a few months before, a first class funeral for the Don King and Cersei was flourishing, feeling free and young again.  
As a widow, mother of two, she was free to refuse other marriage proposals and enjoy life like she did in her teen years.  
She used to meet her lover in a hotel in town, close to her favourite shopping centre, to avoid prying eyes; she felt safe there, so she did not noticed the blond man with dark sunglasses and a baseball hat sat at the lounge bar on the ground floor, close to one of the hotel entrances.  
The hat partially covered a scar on his forehead.  
The man noticed Cersei and the young man, he lowered the mirror lenses a little. A smirk on his face, he sat more comfortably on his armchair and ordered an iced coffee while taking some photos.

__

A man opened the door of Sansa’s room and the Avvocato appeared; the light was stronger, but Sansa was unable to judge if a night had passed or not, she felt she was sleeping too much, too often, were they drugging her to keep her quiet?  
He seemed relaxed, in total control, but he had such an aura of power around his figure that by just moving a little finger only his men bowed in submission, he was able to obtain respect without scaring people with brute force.  
He handed Sansa the daily copy of The Evening Courier, the front title was about the disappearance of Arya Stark  
Sansa’s heart missed a few beats, at first she feared for her sister’s life, then she read and reread the article and stared at Sandor’s face, her butler had been photographed outside Winterfell.  
Something was off; Sandor was a man never able to hide his feelings and he wasn’t broken or desperate, the photo was well defined and she saw he was worried, deadly worried, but not so worried as to lead Sansa to believe Arya was dead or kidnapped.  
Her sister was a survivor, Arya was able to sneak away to go skiing with her friends Gendry, Lommy and Hot Pie, without her mother noticing it, she learned to drive at seventeen from Jon in secret, if there was someone who could slip away unnoticed, that was Arya.  
Or simply Sansa could not admit the idea her sister was dead.  
\-- Friar Jaime Lannister took the vows to escape the madness of his life and family; Don Tywin Lannister let him go because he had another male heir.  
And the Don planned to make Jaime powerful inside the church, with the right connections to have a Lannister bishop soon, and maybe a Cardinal, later, if Jaime would apply to study and partake in the games of power.  
People would kiss his ring like they kissed his father’s, a sign of respect: the first cardinal into the family, wearing red, red for a lion.  
His sister thought it was a crazy idea, bat she was glad Jaime would remain celibate, a man of God. He would not betray his vows, poverty, obedience, chastity.  
But she had pleaded and begged and insisted and he had fall into her trap.  
A year of marriage, the confirmation of Robert’s sterility.  
“Please, I need you, If I give him a child he’ll stop treating me so bad.” She told Jaime  
A woman of the South knew the value of alliances, she couldn’t divulge her husband’s secret, it could start a war, it would means deaths.,  
“I can tell father he hits you.”  
“No, you can’t. What I told you was a confession.”  
He was being blackmailed, he believed priesthood would save him from such a thing; Jaime adored only one woman, his sister. So he gave in and ten months later he was baptizing twins.  
His hand trembled pouring drops of holy water on the blonde heads and when the baby girl opened her eyes he saw green, only green, green like him and Cersei and all his family.  
Legacy of ancient conquerors from the West, blond an green was stronger than black and brown.  
Jaime asked the people inside the chapel to pray for the gift of life and no one heard the private prayer he whispered over the infants draped in candid white and lace.  
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. Please protect my children, they are at no fault.”

__

Arya Stark left the crowded train station – Gare du Lyon was a huge and tall building, outside she took note of the high tower that seemed absurdly large given its only puropse was to hold the giant clock. She opened the door of the car rental to collect the car, a very common silver grey Peugeotar; at home Father has gifted her of a brand new red Mini for passing her driving test and she missed the ease with which she had driven it.  
She signed the papers using the name Arry Snow, showed her new documents, threw her light travel bag on the passenger seat with two bottles of fresh orange juice; turning on the navigator and driving west, she tried not to get lot in the motorways around Paris.  
She had coordinates and a map to follow, not a name, nor an address, she entered the phone number Syrio had given her, with the caveat it had to be used only in case of emergency, under the name "No One".  
The roads were boring, yellow fields, crops, farms, silos for two long hours, a flat countryside; she was following the Route National, not the motorway, she met few cars during the long straits from a village to another. She crossed department borders without noticing the names, then everything changed and green took over.  
The rain had lighted the land with life and everything was in full bloom, so different from her snowy hometown.  
Few scattered houses, small villages, she glimpsed she ble sea and wondered where her travel would lead her.  
After another two hours and a stop to use a toilet and drink a coffee that paled in comparison to her usual espresso, she noticed she had been alone on the road for a quarter of an hour or so and there were no traces of human presence.  
She rolled down the window and felt the ocean. Strong. Powerful. Loud cries of seagulls and the smell of seaweeds.  
The paved road ended at an iron gate; through it Arya saw a pathway slowly descending toward the sea.  
A text appeared from No one.  
“Open the gate, then close it and follow the stones.”  
She noticed white round stones lining the left side of the driveway, until she reached a group of trees. The sound of the seagulls was stronger.  
No one texted again.  
“Enter the woods. Leave the car under the awning on the right, close it and continue walking.”  
She grabbed her bag and moved slowly as instructed, observing the surroundings.  
The pathway was getting narrow, so that only people could use it; it turned twice along the soft slope until she saw the house over the cliff, all white with a black door and black roof.  
A figure was standing at the entrance, the door was half open and the face was in partial shadow.  
She approached, a man came out and the first thing Arya saw was the hair.  
Red, kissed by the light of the sunset: No one was an average height, a white t shirt on a muscular chest and brown combat knee long shorts. /> At close distance, she saw his eyes, bluer than the sea bordering the beach under the house and she noticed the thin streak of white hair.  
“A girl arrived safe. Is a girl hungry? A man can share a meal with her.”  
Arya nodded, surprised by his use of the third person.

__

“You can return home soon if we find an agreement. You’re young and inexperienced in ruling a large business like your father and brother did. We are interested in an acquisition at a convenient value.”  
Sansa looked at the Avvocato with huge eyes at first, then she tensed, her interlocutor was speaking too carefully, she could read his body language, some of his gestures where not coherent with his words; she always got good grades in high school sociology, she liked to read books about pedagogy and psychology, trying to convince Father to attend university away from home.  
She used to have complete faith in people when she was younger, but since her father started planning a M&A with a southern company, she was noticing changes in him.  
Sansa was very close to her father, although Arya was probably the favourite child. Ned and Sansa shared a deep emotional bond, Ned liked to have Sansa in his office while he was working and she was studying, her presence soothed his mind and he felt he read documents and made decisions faster with her there.  
Ned was more cautious and less cheerful at dinner or during family moments; Catelyn Stark tried to reassure Sansa, at first, but her insistence made Catelyn confess Ned and Robb were in frequent meetings with uncle Edmure - her mother’s family had been a co founder of the business - trying to find a good agreement. The people from the South had a different way to approach business and the Stark patriarch was having difficulties in fully trusting them.  
“Your father is worried, he thinks the lawyer of the Vale inc, the first company he had contacts with, is not a clear and truthful man.”  
That name, Vale, sounded like a bell in Sansa’s ears when she saw it briefly on the folder Baelish opened in front of her eyes.  
Sansa’s ability to notice details has been extremely useful in her favourite hobby, painting, she used to remember scenes from places and people of her trips and she took great pleasure in transferring to the canvas the yellow of a rose, the lollipop in a child’s hand, the deep grey of stones wet by the rain.  
And this Vale reference meant Baelish was a man her father had not trusted and she better do the same.  
The Avvocato looked at Sansa with disappointment, the young woman had been a surprise, an unpleasant one, and her insistence in claiming she was not the owner of the majority of shares of Stark inc was a serious issue. If Arya was declared dead, the law asked for a few years of waiting and her brother - for now unable to sign whatever paper - could improve, depriving Baelish of the signature he needed.   
He’d find a way to make Sansa crumble. The Families needed to control Stark’s business.


	4. Chapter 4

Ch 4 

Lyanna Stark’s faith in the police was low, since her husband – general Snow, a respected and loyal soldier - died many years ago in a terroristic attack inside a crowded train station, meant to kill the chief of state.  
She and Sandor talked with Arya every evening using Jaqen’s secure connection. They relied newspapers and television comments about the Stark case to her as well as their meetings with Uncle Tully and daily life at Winterfell.  
Arya longed to hear their voices, her only link to her former life and they were both curious about her mysterious “No one”, whose full name was revealed to be Jaqen H’ghar. Arya was very private with Sandor, but when it was just the two ladies, Arya talked more about Jaqen, his appearance and his intense training program; after a direct question, she admitted she was intrigued by his personality.  
One evening Sandor called earlier than usual, he was alone, Lyanna was out with Jon.  
“Signorina Arya, is Signor H’ghar with you?”  
Years as the Stark’s trusted butler and Sandor was as formal and respectful as ever-.  
“He is in the kitchen, should I call him?”  
“Please do.”  
Sandor’s tone was strained, Jaqen noticed, he decided not to point out it to Arya and listen to the butler before giving voice to his impressions  
“I’ve been contacted by a lawyer from the south, a man with a mellifluous voice. He had a strange proposal. I felt a chill on my back from just talking with him.”  
“What did he say?”  
"He introduced himself as the spokesman of a group of private financers interested in a M and A with Stark Industries..  
Since the difficulty to contact a stark heir, with Sansa kidnapped and Bran recovering, Baelish hoped the butler would be able to deliver the message to Arya."  
“Signorina Arya, I don’t like that man.” Sandor concluded. “ I haven’t told Signorina Lyanna yet.”  
Jaqen’s face remained impassive, not his eyes: he was good at hiding emotions, but her barely could control his blue pools.  
Arya took note and told Sandor to stay quiet and to not reveal anything, then she called her uncle, asking him to also increase the surveillance of Winterfell for Bran’s safety.  
She ended the call and sat beside Jaqen’s who was doing his own researches.  
The net he had built during the years to collect vital info was impressive indeed, an hour later they had the Baelish dosser.  
“He’s linked with the most powerful Cupola. This goes deeper than I imagined. I’m quite sure he’s got Sansa or knows well where she is. He’ll use her as an exchange for Stark inc.”  
“Will he let her go if he get our business?”  
“No Arya, those people don’t leave witness alive.”  
Arya looked at Jaqen, hoping for an answer he was too honest to lie about.  
Fear ran cold in her body making Arya shiver.  
“It’ll never end.”  
“We’ll find a way. They are powerful, but we have our allies.”

__

After Sandor’s call Jaqen went to the capital, to collect info from his brothers – as he called the people working for the same organization - plus the right kind of weapons and other documents, asking Arya to appreciate the tranquility of the place. All the security devices were active, Arya had food, television and a emergency line active with the central.  
The Young. skinny and short woman who once a week delivered groceries to the house stayed with Arya as a body guard while he was away. She was quiet and barely answered Arya’s questions; she had protested but Jaqen was unmovable on the matter: safety first. The woman's presence was discrete so Arya could appreciate the place, so different from her snowy mountains.  
She liked to sit on a bench over the dunes and watch the tide on the beach below; Jaqen had explained her the healing effect it had on him and she decided he was right. The slow changes the tide provided was a distraction that soothed her soul. 

__

The convent was built at the top of a hill, close to almond and orange fields, in an area used by shepherds in summer for the green grass on the North side.  
Complete atonement for Jaime.  
The other two friars recognized his family name and remained silent, Don Tywin’s power in the region was strong. At first his presence was seen as a temporary refuge from whatever crime of the world he or his family had committed, but after a few years his devotion to God shone around him like a white circle of stars, he never complained, did all the chores, even the most simple and monotonous, cleaned all the rooms, the baths, the inner yard, took care of the plants and flowers; the old monks were happy to see a young man so committed to God.  
Jaime seldom received news from his younger brother about the children, the twins he’d never be able to call or declare his own.  
The distance from his relatives helped him made the memories of his past more bearable, but at night he dreamed about Cersei. They were a nightmare and he woke up, his erection painfully hard, his whole body drenched in sweat; as punishment he wrapped the cilice of course sackcloth his bare flesh and prayed knelt on the bare floor.  
Few cars reached the place and when he heard one stopping outside the main gate he went out, thinking it was his Brother; it was usual for Tyrion to to visit around Jaime's birthday.  
Two huge Hummers with dark windows were like black ravens croaking in the night. Three bodyguards and a dark haired man with cold eyes went out, a ghost from Jaime’s past.  
“You’re thinner, Jaime boy, too much penitence is not a virtue.”  
“Reese, what are you doing here?”  
“I have a present for you from our friend, the Avvocato.”  
Jaime grabbed the envelope don Reese Bolton handled him, a stack of photos of Cersei and the twins at the sea: He saw how much the children have grown, how blonde Tommen was, resembling himself at that age too much. His father suspected something, Tyrion had told him as much – the twins were golden haired and green eyed and there were voices of Cersei going to a very private clinic - so that was the reason he was allowed to stay hidden, not yet inside the bishop’s palace to start his climb to the red beret; a longer way, but a way Don Tywin preferred.  
A few years as an ascetic monk will impress the archbishop, Don Twyin repeated to Tyrion often; Reese Bolton’s presence, barring the escape route, wasn’t a good sign.  
“You’ll have more presents if you're a good boy.”  
Jaime’s hand trembled, barely letting the photos fall from his grasp, but he swiftly tightened his grip.  
“What do you want?”  
“You’ll keep someone here. A girl who needs a safe place. Just to be sure, you behave yourself; your friends will leave with us, our dear bishop needs two preachers very soon.”  
Two of the men, Ilyn and Armory, Jaime remembered their names from the dark wall of his memories, were fast, pushing one of the two old monks into each Hammer while Bolton went to the back of the first one; he opened the door and Jaime saw something red shine in the strong afternoon light.  
The red moved and he heard a deep intake of air, Bolton’s hand grab a thin arm, pull and a figure appeared, a dark ribbon on her head and a gag in her mouth, hands and ankles cuffed together with a chain connecting the two.  
“Get up, bitch.” Reese Bolton spat angrily, pulling at the chain to make the figure stand.  
Jaime could tell it was a woman, thin and tall and with auburn long hair, wearing a white summer dress and a pink jacket with specks of blood.  
He dragged her toward the cloister entry and ordered Jaime to follow.  
“Where’s your room?”  
“The second on the left.”  
“She’ll be here, looked up with you, my men will stay, I don’t want people around, the place is officially closed for maintenance.”

___

“Jaime has not replied to my birthday wishes.”  
Don Tywin left the table taking a call and Tyrion’s wife, Tysha, was trying to get her two sons and the twins to eat vegetables.  
Cersei protested with her younger brother during their weekly family dinner. Don Tywin considered dining out with his family to be a show of power.  
“Mail service is a failure in this country, I’m sure he’ll receive your letter in time for Christmas.”  
“Don’t be silly, Tyrion.”  
Cersei gestured at her empty glass and Tyrion immediately refilled it; the white cold sparkling wine was the perfect accompaniment for the seafood they had ordered.  
The restaurant was crowded, a summer hot evening prompted people to enjoy the sea front, but the Lannister table, with full view of the Promenade, was in the most reserved corner of the veranda.  
“I could go visit him.”  
“For Easter mass, dear sister? You’re taking the religious turn? Now you’re a widow, ready for charity work, or you could join our brother and become a nun.”  
Cersei laughed at the suggestion. A few people from nearby tables looked at them, one was a man with blond hair combed in a way to hide a scar over his left eye. 

___

Jaqen left for the South with a name on his list and Arya felt lost for the first hours; she has refused company this time, armed with her brand new gun. Jaqen compromised, getting security only around the property borders.  
A few days in another country with an intensive training program were too short to appreciate the novelties and she had her fresh wound to handle, too.  
Why Jaqen wanted to lived there? A choice or an imposition? How did he find the place? His past, his strange contacts, his skills with weapons.  
Jaqen H’ghar was a mask, and who was the man was behind it?  
He ordered her to continue training and report her progresses; his voice had a dry tone, deprived of emotions.  
A strange behaviour, in contrast with the days and nights spent together.  
Arya debated if it was his way of detaching himself from everything else and concentrate only on his mission; she had asked him how dangerous it was and Jaqen had explained the southerners were more inclined to burn with passion and rage than act with logic and patience, so he wasn’t worried too much.  
Arya trained all afternoon – a physical and mental workout with shooting and meditation - and then decided to prepare herself something to eat and a glass of white wine and eat outside the kitchen where a table with chairs stood.  
Their training usually lasted until late in the evening and she had no time to appreciate the landscape.  
Facing West, the sunset with the golden light was a discovery; the endless ocean plain gave her souls a new hope. She didn’t fell the oppression her beloved mountains could offer in winter, when she longed to be up high, a pair of ski or snowboards to trace the curves of the mountains and the slopes of the valleys.  
This was different and familiar at the same.  
A text on the phone Jaqen gave her to communicate.  
“Landed. Are you ok?”  
“Sitting outside after training. Great view.”  
“I’ll show you my secret place.”  
“Be careful.”  
“As always. Good night, lovely girl.”  
A pet name from a killer? Arya was stupefied by his words, at first, unused to be appreciated by people outside family. By a man, nevertheless. By a man she trusted since their first meeting, who trusted her to share his knowledge, not for money, Uncle Tully clearly had declared, but because his life was in black or white, no shadows. Complete trust or nothing at all.  
Suddenly she wasn’t so alone, she was working with Jaqen, he’d help her to give revenge to her pain.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am very very sorry for the delay, I had other works to complete and this one needed a long revision (I believe it was really necessary) and more scenes added, this chapter is quite short but the next one will be quite dramatic. Thanks a lot.

After a few days, Jaime hoped they had been forgotten.  
A couple of Bolton’s armed men were always inside the convent, faces hidden by black balaclava.  
They seemed young and he didn’t remember them; the death rate after the last feuds and arrests by the police had thinned the ranks of some Families.  
He wondered what was expected from him. Sansa was mostly silent so he kept his past and links with Baelish to himself.  
That part of his life, his shame, was something he buried deep in his mind.  
The young woman was beautiful and kind, her long red hair and white skin signifying hat she came from up North, Jaime wondered who she was, what the Families wanted from her. kidnapping for ransom wasn’t a common trait for his people, they used not to leave witnesses.  
Jaime was in the kitchen when he heard voices from the court yard, he was not allowed to go without a guard.  
The sound of a powerful engine, then a guard entered to grab him and forced him into the refectory where Sansa was already sat on one of the high wooden chairs.,  
A man was in front of her, partially blocking Jaime’s view.  
The man turned and a chill run though Jaime’s back: after a few years, the sight of the son of Don Roose, Ramsay, made him sick. Ramsay was the most cruel and sadistic member of the Bolton family. He left for the far east a few years previously after the police suspected him of raping and killing a woman, his father sent him away to calm the waters.

Ramsay Bolton crushed the lamp and grabbed the candles Jaime kept on each side of the cross over his desk.  
He was stripped bare of his last remaining possessions, silver cross, watch and phone.  
“My father calls me once a week.”  
“You’ll speak with him when I decide.”  
“He could get suspicious if I don’t answer.”  
“I’ll took care of this. Get this bread and cheese and stay quiet.”  
Bolton pushed Jaime inside his cell so forcefully he nearly fell on the mattress, it was getting dark, the hermitage had a clear view west and the sunset was visible from his cell.  
Where was the girl? What were the men doing with her? He spotted two mattress on the floor, maybe they would be locked up together.  
He tried to listen for any noises, he imagine to hear her cry, but it could've been a bird. The walls of the ancient building were thick, whispers and low voices died from a room to another. A cry, loud and clear, someone was suffering.  
Jaime stood and waited and prayed.  
Then a sudden scream, a soprano voice, musical if not for the pain she was experienceing.  
Steps outside the door, unlocked only for the time needed to throw in what looked like a bunch of rags, until they fell against him.  
Jaime caught Sansa before she landed on the bare stones, they ended up with his head on the mattress, while his lower back hit the foot stole he used to pray on, but she was safe splayed on top of him, clinging to his clothes.  


Sandor Hound was proud to be Winterfell’s guardian in its darkest hour; he visited Bran every day, at first in hospital, then in the rehab centre, he kept the house alive and prayed every day in the small white chapel dedicated to the Lady of the Snow for Sansa’s safe return.  
Calls and texts from Arya were his lifeline.  
Sandon knew she was hiding somewhere West and was safe there, but every time he talked with Lyanna or Edmure he expressed his worry; Sansa’s fate was unknown so Arya was the only Stark who could make relevant decisions about the family company.  
Lyanna was optimistic, her nieces were alive, she felt it; Edmure assured Sandor the police believed Sansa was kept alive for a ransom, nevertheless Sandor was getting more and more nervous with each passing day, feeling unable to keepthe family he loved with all his heart safe and together.  
Sansa was his favorite and the uncertainty about her well being was gnawing at Sandor from the inside.  
Arya announced Jaqen had got revenge on the first target - a man named Meryn Tyrant - and Sandor experienced a sad satisfaction. More deaths could not make Ned, Catelyn and Robb return from the dead.  
Arya offered few details, Sandor wanted more.  
“Are you sure Tyrant was one of them?”  
“The research was meticulous, Jaqen has evidences he was one of the four killers at the restaurant and now Jaqen’s Brothers will get info from his phone.”  
“He plan to get the others with you?”  
“We’ll do what we must. Until the end.”  
Arya soon forwarded Sandor an email from Jaqen, with a series of photos from Tryant’s phone: a group of men in a house overlooking the sea, sat around a table, glasses of wine, cups of coffee and guns.  
One man with dark hair and broad chest, built like a bull, was clearly the boss. His bodyguards were beside him, one towering above the others.  
“That one must be two meters tall.” Sandor pointed out  
“It will be easier to find him. Look at the others if you recognize someone from father work.”  
“I’m not sure.”  
“Take your time, ask Uncle Edmore and Syrio. Maybe they know.”  
Sandor gasped, Arya saw he passed a hand over his face, white as he had met a ghost. 

Something wasn’t right, Cersei felt it in her gut. No reply to her letter, Jaime's phone had been off for two days, no news about him from Don Tywin when she had casually ask her father. For her, that was proof enough, Cersei Lannister could care very little for people and be considered an arrogant rich woman, but for her Jaime was something else. Her other part, the missing one, the good one. Never really apart, never fully separated. Jaime’s escape into the church had been difficult and at the beginning she hated him, but since he had answered her desperate call and gave her what she needed the most - her precious children - they would be forever linked and her others lovers paled in compared to their sibling bond. Fraternal twins with the sexual affair they kept for years strengthened whatever telepathy their common genes could have given them. She decided not to discuss her suspicions with Tyrion or her father for fear she’d reveal too much about herself and Jaime and instead contacted her own informer, Qyburn, the one she trusted more than Varys, the family’s official one. When Qyburn told her the good news - Jaime was alive - and the bad news - he was being held hostage as part of a dangerous game of power, Cersei put up a face for the world while struggling internally with the realization that for the first time in their lives Jaime was in real danger.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After my beta completed the revision from the beginning, here chapter 6.  
> There is a violent scene that has the rape tag to be alert, although it is not what may seem at the beginning.  
> Thanks for you patience.

When Ramsay Bolton unlocked the door, Jaime and Sansa immediately stood up; he had kicked Jaime hard in the stomach one morning that he had been a little slow in obeying his orders. The large bruise on his skin had faded to yellow after a few days.  
“Come out!”  
Bolton ordered, then he followed his hostages to the refectory, a gun pointed at their backs.  
After a few steps Sansa stopped, she had suffered cramps during the night and she felt a hot wetness between her legs; her period had started. She kept her legs closed, ashamed of the stain, but Ilyn swiftly took her arms to tie Sansa to a chair.  
Bolton moved to Sansa and saw blood on the front of her dress. His eyes took a wild expression and he stood in front of her, a half smile on his lips. More a sneer than a smile.  
“It seems we have a girl ripe and ready for some fun.”  
He looked at his men; Jaime had heard him calling them Ilyn and Armory.  
“Who’s going to taste her?”  
Sansa’s face went pale, Jaime fought against his own ropes; tied to a chair beside her, he hadn’t noticed her blood.  
His father’s talks about Bolton’s cruelty and perversions came to his mind in a rush; he had been worried for Sansa since the beginning.  
“Boys, aren’t you going to try?”  
His men stood silent, they knew the game Bolton was playing, his tastes and his perverse desires, how he took pleasure in degrading people. None of them dared to oppose, even though the plan was to make the woman sign what Baelish wanted, not to rape her; voicing a remark could enrage Bolton further.  
“Or we can ask our friend here to do the dirty work, can’t we?”  
He pushed Jaime onto the floor, using a strap to make him fall hard on his knees and he imposed himself over the friar.  
Jaime gulped and his eyes widened.  
“Yes, our Jaime boy will clean up the lady’s mess and we’ll admire his ability, won’t we?”  
Bolton took Jaime’s chin and forced him to meet his sneering gaze.  
“Have you ever went down on a woman, brother? You’re used to drinking the blood of your Lord, believe me, it’s better to taste a woman’s.”  
Bolton kicked Jaime in the back until he was closer to Sansa, then he forced her legs open and ripped off her dress and her stained underwear with a knife. Sansa shivered from the humiliation and fear, the knife left a red trail on her belly, Bolton’s eyes became savage.  
Jaime focused on a spot on the floor, this was madness, complete and absolute, Bolton was crazy, instable, don Tywin was a cruel man but he never crossed such a line.  
Sansa was a victim, helpless, unable to defend herself, completely at the mercy of a sadistic shithead. “Come on.”  
Bolton slapped Jaime hard, his ring left a mark on the tender skin.  
Jaime could only imagine the disgust Sansa was experiencing at the moment.  
He wanted to resist, to refuse the act, he had been very good at pleasuring a woman, always, remembering in a flash how wild he and Cersei behaved in bed as teenagers, a lifetime ago, before he took his wows.  
Another slap, harder, his nose started to bleed.  
“Do you need more persuasion?”  
Bolton grabbed Jaime’s hair hard and put his knife near Sansa’s right eye, who by instinct closed both.  
“I’m going straight all the way into the socket if you don’t start. Now!”  
The blade moved slightly and Sansa trembled and hissed in pain.  
“Ok, ok, I’ll do it. Don’t hurt her, please.”  
Jaime closed his eyes, too, and move forward, the smell of their mixed blood soon became strong, he heard laughs from the spectators then he isolated himself from everything, going away inside, just working on Sansa’s private parts in a methodical way. Deprived of every emotion and insensitive to the task he was forced to perform, Jaime kept his eyes closed, he was with Cersei, he was home, he was loved and treasured.  
The first contact of his lips with her lower ones caused a deep gasp from the young woman, he was the first to kiss her in such a way; Jaime felt her tremble and prayed for forgiveness, hoping to be fast and meticulous so that her ordeal would stop soon and the man restrained from hurting her more.  
When he was finished, Bolton ordered to take Jaime to the table under the painting of the Last Supper, face down: Armory cut his ropes and blocked Jaime’s arms in a death grip, his habit was lifted and Jaime felt a hand lowering his underwear and roughly grabbing his arse to spread his cheeks. Jaime tried to oppose, his shoulders and upper arms ached from the unnatural pose he was forced to assume, with Armory on the other side of the table, and Ilyn’s weights on his back. He prayed Sansa was not watching, better if they wanted to hurt him than her, he could offer himself as a sacrifice.  
When Bolton’s cock entered him raw, barely a spit of saliva to wet it, Jaime screamed in pain and passed out. 

“Which pizza do you want? There’s also a bowl of your ice cream, pistachio and hazelnut”  
Veteran police Tormund Giantsbane waited for his girlfriend’s answer before calling their favourite pizzeria with home delivery; Brienne was at home at a decent hour for the first time since the Stark massacre and Tormund wanted to celebrate a little.  
“Four seasons. And an iced red beer.”  
He studied her: Brienne seldom drank alcohol, so her choice was a confirmation she was more tired or worried than usual.  
Being in a committed relationship for two years now – after his divorce and long battle for shared custody of his two teen daughters, living far from him on the mainland – he had learned her mannerisms and gestures.  
Born into an ancient noble family of the second largest island of the country, in a large estate still managed by her father, Brienne had refused to be involved in the family farming business and chose another career for herself.  
They were good together, both police, understanding each other, especially the risks and emotional involvement so typical in their work; he’d been Brienne’s first, a badge of honour he was proud to wear.  
He completed the order, gave his phone number, then looked at Brienne .  
“You’re worried.”  
She took a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge, drank a long sip then stared at Tormund straight into his eyes.  
Their matching heights made it possible, he wondered if she had chosen him because of his stature. No, she said he had been so kind and attentive to her body issues, worshipping her like a goddess for her physique from the beginning.  
“I’m sure something big is going on. The Families are too quiet these days.”  
She put the bottle on the table, stretched her neck to relieve the tension and Tormund went behind her to massage her tensed muscles.  
He was one of the drivers for the judges at the local courthouse, so he had no active part in the investigations.  
“The Stark girl is still missing and I’ve heard a body was found in a wheat field.”  
“Meryn Tyrant. Two bullets in his brain. A neat work. He’s a little fish. Drug dealer with the desire to become a shark. He probably put his nose in the wrong place. He switched allegiance in the past so it’s possible someone made him pay for the betrayals.”  
The bell rang, interrupting their conversation; Brienne retrieved the food and drinks, paid the new delivery boy who was open mouthed, impressed by her physique and sat at the table set up by her man.  
“It’s a strange world when we’re more worried about the absence of crimes than at the presence.”  
Brienne took a slice with small artichokes and ham.  
“No onions on your pizza, Torm? Are you thinking to kiss me tonight?”  
Tormund laughed aloud, he loved her direct approach, always.  
“Whatever, I’ve assigned more teams and asked our best informers to keep eyes and ears open. I don’t want a mafia war just now, not with elections so close. How many new faces at the courthouse?”  
“Three prosecutors and a judge, for two retirements and two transfers.”  
“Too many for my tastes, I need prosecutors who aren’t afraid to sign orders. If my gut is right, we’ll see something bad soon.” 

The drive from the capital to his house - landing in an international airport a better way to hide himself between the crowd of passenger – lasted four hours due to the weekend traffic and Jaqen was impatient to arrive.  
Someone was there, waiting for him. A completely new feeling.  
Uncertainty, would Arya be as happy to see him as he was to see her? Or was he creating scenarios in his mind that were not true, simply projecting years of self-imposed loneliness on a new screen?  
He opened the automatic gate, crossed it and stopped the car until he saw the light going off, signalling the property was barred to strangers.  
A long breath, at the end of the driveway his refuge was waiting for him.  
No more an empty shell, he saw the lights in the rooms on the right side, the sitting room and the kitchen, he smelled smoke from the chimney - it was chilly and Arya sure had kept the fire on – he heard the radio playing classic rock ballads.  
It felt a home, not a simple house. And a force stronger than his willpower and his fears made Jaqen open the front door.  
Silently he entered, afraid to say a word, wanting to see, to store in his memory the image in front of him.  
Arya at the kitchen sink, peeling vegetables from a bowl, a pan on the fires, her hair set in a complicated braid that revealed her pale neck, wearing an oversized t shirt over a pair of jeans, black sneakers with traces of sand.  
He was ready to call her to make her aware of his presence, but she was faster.  
“You’re back.”  
She turned, smiling.  
Completely taken aback, he nodded.  
“How did you hear me?”  
“Your silence is louder than thunder in this house. Your arrival awakened everything here. The leaves rustled, a few birds started singing and you smell of sweat and cheap fries.”  
Jaqen took steps forward from the door, compelled by Arya’s words. His hand lifted to reach hers, he took the knife gently from her fingers; her eyes locked with his.  
“Did he suffer?”  
“I had to be fast, but he knew he was going to die. I lead him to a solitary place”  
Her pupils widened, by reflex he pulled her hand to have her closer and fill his vision with her. It was a mad desire and he could not resist.  
A thud, the potato fell on the floor and her hand on his neck, grabbing skin with thin fingers.  
Oh she was strong, with her passion for winter sports, the hours she used to spend in the Winterfell gym, her body was petite and ferocious, like her lips on his, the sudden contact and the way their bodies crashed one against the other, while their mouths fought in a primal dance.  
Arya felt her blood hum, her kisses with Gendry had never been so, the want, the desire she was experimenting with were all so new, and the man under her hands was feeling the same, his moans and the desperate way he was holding her tight, no air between their bodies.  
Words were futile, she could say she needed him, she wanted him, but her body spoke in silence, keeping her mouth on his face, mapping his contours, and he breathed deeply, lifting her face to the ceiling while Arya went on his neck and sucked his earlobe.  
She never felt so wanton and she did not care, this was the reaction of what she had endured recently, this man who had killed for her, that has made a promise of vengeance.  
Jaqen could not believe what was happening to his body, he had dreamed of her while they were parted, confused memories in his sleep and a male reaction in his groin every morning that only a long cold shower could tame.  
And here she was and he was more alive than ever, the pressure of her belly against his front was delicious and delirious and he lifted her up, effortless, and still kissing he led her to the carpet in front of the fire.  
He took off her t-shirt and his polo, her hands on his fly to open it, his hands on her torso, tasting her breasts; she pushed down her trousers until she freed a leg and he was grinding against her, without shame and fear, she took his face and looked into his eyes and opened her knees so he could settle between her legs.  
Frantic desire to be joined overcame both, he barely touched her down, just to see if she was wet enough and his touch made her back arch; Arya grabbed his buttocks, sliding her hands under the fabric of trousers and boxers, and pushed him down onto her and he took himself in hand and found her entrance. At first attempt he only entered a little, bucking his hip, the wrong movement, losing the connection, slipping away, clumsy, like a horny teenager that was more close to the reality Arya could imagine, because she was tight and impatient and she opened her body more and he felt the right angle and was full inside. She gasped, her frame accepted the intrusion, after a few seconds her muscles relaxed.  
They locked gaze, adjusting a little to the new sensation until Jaqen’s need to move was impossible to stop; he did a few quick thrusts - too few for his and her liking - and he come soon, the years of abstinence too many to make him last.  
“I’m sorry.” he murmured, spent, on her neck, breathing fast.  
“For this?”  
“No, never this. For being too fast.”  
Arya laughed, a liberating laugh that melted his heart.  
“The first time is not supposed to be like the romance novels my sister liked so much as a teenager, when the knight holds the lady and they kiss and all fade away in blissful perfection.”  
“I think you’re right. You don’t like those books?”  
“Never been a bookworm. And your belt is scratching my thigh. I prefer you naked.”  
He put palms flat on the floor to lift himself and not crush Arya  
“Where are you going?”  
“You said I’m hurting you.”  
She grabbed the loops of his trousers and pulled him down.  
“Get fully undressed. We could try for a second round and see if practice makes it last longer.”  
“On one condition. A bed.”  
He helped Arya stand and she felt sticky fluids running on her thighs. She stopped to wipe them off with her t shirt and he noticed the gesture. He had forgotten everything in the heat of the moment.  
“I didn’t use a condom. I’m clear and I can get you the morning after pill.”  
“Don’t worry, I started the pill four months ago.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am very sorry for the long delay but the Chinese covid hit hard on my family and I sufffered tragic losses. So here I am trying to reconnect with my works.  
> This is an interlude chapter, to explain a lot of things.  
> Thanks a lot to my great beta, I owe your a lot.  
> If you are so kind to leave a commet, I will be very glad, considering my hard times.

_Teaching a lovely girl is enchanting and exhausting._

_“You have to drag them out, working in circles around the killers. So they won’t feel something is going to happen. You’ll start killing from the lower ranks, then going higher, waving a net, getting closer to the core every passing day. I started with the first while I was away.”_

_Jaqen opens a folder and shows Arya newspapers about a man found dead in a wheat field with his arms and legs tied like a goat, a clear sign of a feud between Families._

_“Will you complete my revenge with me?”_

_“I’ll be with you, beside you, behind you, around you, always.”_

_This is madness, he thinks, risks and dangers and the reverse of what he has built for more than half his life, a descent into the same path of his father and grandfather._

_But Arya is the one, like his mother had been, like he half longed for and half prayed to be spared from …_

_“I’ll protect and defend you, this I can promise you and when it is over you can go back to your life.”_

_“I don’t want to go back and leave you!”_

_“You must, my path is not one you can follow. You’re young, you deserve a chance at happiness, more than I can give you.”_

_“And if I want only what you can give me? Who you are? You think I can return to that kind of life, untouched after what we plan and what we feel? We are damned together or saved together. There is a tie that binds us and I won’t break or loosen it.”_

_When did a girl, a black haired, grey eyed, pale skinned girl become a lovely girl, his lovely girl?_

_In which moment, during their training, during their shared meals, during long walks along the beach? During endless hours spent under the wooden beams of the upper floor, painted in black and white, that he had transformed into a training room?_

_When the next touch be?_

_When the next kiss?_

_Because she is close, so close, too close and he has to bring her face to his, her lips to his, his life to hers._

_His words flow from the broken dam he has built around him over three decades of his life._

_“My grandfather was a kind man, a good man, he helped people. He was the town mayor, respected by everyone. He acted as the keeper of the justice and peace office, too, his decisions were wise. He and his brothers owned a transportation firm that delivered goods up to the big towns and a small farm. They owned big horses and were sad with the advent of engines and trucks._

_He was away often in the evenings when times got hard, when dangerous winds blew the new flag they were forced to use. His wife was younger, he married late, but they had three children. A Jewish family he was friends with was in great danger, and grandfather helped them to reach a neutral country. Someone betrayed him and he was taken away with his family. Only my father and his older sister survived the camp.”_

_Jaqen cannot stop the tears; Arya takes his hand and caresses his palm with her fingers._

_She feels he has not finished yet. The worst is still to come_

_“My father wanted to honour his family, he wanted to help people, too. To have justice for his relatives, to make the bad people pay._

_Then new people arrived from the East, another kind of evil. He married my mother, a high school teacher, she taught what they wanted her not to teach. The intellectuals, the students, the poets tried a revolution during a warm spring and it was blood again, and repression. Hard.”_

_His hand squeezes hers, an iron grip she accepts without a sound._

_“My mother was taken away from me and my brother and my father; I never saw her again. She died of a fever in a hospital prison, they told dad. They cremated her and we only got her ashes. I grew up understanding my father more and more, while my brother became estranged. My father never remarried, although he had two young sons and was a handsome man. He loved one woman only, he repeated to me every year at mom’s grave, her love had been enough.”_

_“I never imagined.”_

_They share so many pains. Her voice is soft and kind, Jaqen’s tears fall on her wrist, he has not cried for years._

_“I started my own personal revenge. I have a cousin, a famous violinist, he was allowed to travel with the orchestra, albeit always under surveillance of our state police. He contacted the people my grandfather had saved, they remembered us and through my cousin I escaped.”_

_“A powerful secret service gave me a new name, my bank account changed so many times, making impossible to trace it back, and the best plastic surgeon of the middle east created a new face for me. All because my grandfather saved that family, whose younger child went on to have a stellar career as a high ranking army officer.”_

_Jaqen rolls up his trousers and starts walking on the beach where sand and water meet. Arya stares at him, silhouetted against the rising sun. He has explained to her that the house is in a position over the cape, one beach facing east, one west._

_“So the secret service trained you?”_

_“An excellent training, although very hard. I didn’t care. After two years I repaid them with a long mission in South America, to track down ex-army officers responsible for “desaparecidos”, missing people. Then I was asked to join my Brothers.”_

_With the money he earned, he rented one of the old safe houses, the most secluded one in the west, only the sea surrounding it._

_“When I killed my first, a paedophile who had broken a lot of young girls, at first I felt relief. My adrenaline was high, I shot him in the middle of the forehead, I had him trapped in a deserted old train station. I stared at the tracks for a while after he died, desiring to leave.”_

_He had freed the world from a disgusting man, he should have felt proud, weeks of observation, nights spent awake following him into red light districts, inside dirty buildings where with money a man could buy anything, including life or death._

_He had steeled himself, forcing his hand to wait, forcing his mind to erase the image of the little girl the pervert was touching, until the right day came._

_Afterwards he took a fast train with a new face - fake moustache and dyed hair - and was in another country in less than three hours, long before the body was discovered. He reached the safe house used in the capital, went to the top floor, just under the pigeons in the roof, and ran to the bathroom where he expelled all the hate and rage, shitting himself, vomiting food, liquids and in the end blood. Later, he took a long bath to scrub his skin carefully, and he felt he was born again._

_“Will it be the same for me?”_

_“I don’t know, lovely girl.”_

_She is so eager to learn, so ready to follow his orders he doesn’t believe it’s possible, her demons are bigger than his, her hunger to find and save her sister._

_Arya takes Jaqen’s hand and they sit outside, under the stars, above the sea. It seems so cliché, a romantic setting, and she turns toward him and kisses him out of blue on the lips._

_“Pain is always the same, your pain is my pain and nothing will ever change it. Pain is the same.”_

_And she kisses him more, harder, lower, bolder._

_Jaqen freezes._

_“We can’t. We have to stop. Please stop.”_

_“I can’t stop. It makes me feel alive. For the first time since I lost my family.”_

_“You can’t want me. Look at me, look at my scars, at my wounds. At my face, I’m too old for you.”_

_His past is readable on his features._

_“I don’t care about your face, your scars and your wounds, I don’t care about your age. I want you.”_

_“I’ m lost and I cannot let you lose yourself, I’ve never let anyone come so close to me, touch my body, feel my soul. Once I had to kill a man and to get him I had to play a part and he was touching me, he wanted to have sex with me. I was so scared for the humiliation and the pain but I remained sane.”_

_He closes his eyes, sees the man beside him again and his fingers stretching his ass to prepare for penetration, and he observes himself turning suddenly and the hidden knife clicks in his hand and the man is stabbed to death._

_“I cleaned everything, disposed of the body, then I went to the sea. I walked into the water and I cleaned my body off.”_

_“Longing and desiring is a weakness, lovely girl.”_

_“I never had a lover before you . I had a friend, a very good one, a ski instructor. We kissed and touched, we were thinking about going all the way for my 18 th birthday, a special gift, by that time I was lost and I left him back. Never answered his calls or texts. And from Sandor’s calls he has a girlfriend now.”_

_She has information about her hometown, detailed reports of what is happening there from her butler, the only man she trusts enough. Because in the case Sansa is found, she needs to know. She clings to this hopes, Jaquen knows, and he must support her with all his strength._


End file.
